It Was A Prank-Free Weekend

It's not that I go out of my way to be cruel, but sometimes (ney, most of the time) I see the line and I don't just cross over it -- I maul it. I mean, jump up, fly backwards, double-handed middle fingers extended "fuck you" to the line. I've always been this way. "Look with your eyes, not with your hands", was the warning from my parents. All the while I'm disassembling an antique music box at my dad's bosses house. The beatings I endured just to find out why something went, "ping". But dammit, when I was finished I could tell you how it worked -- not that I could necessarily put it back together . . .

So it was April 1 on Saturday. In past years, I have been responsible for female co-workers leaving work early due to an unfortunate urination accident. Oh, the old reliable plastic-wrap-on-the-toilet trick. The secret is to be meticulous. I would firmly stretch the plastic to the bowl, then trim it so the seat completely covered the edge. The joy that came from a screetched, "WHAT THE FUCK!" I lived for those moments . . . Like when a roommate in Hawaii, Ken, received a tri-fold letter sealed with a heart sticker from a girl back home. Just a note: girls, these are NOT secure. Because while Ken was at work, I had already read the letter and was working on a response. Not from me, mind you, but from Ken. You see, Ken was an ornery little bastard who was in Hawaii by court-order due to a drug addiction. In addition to rehab, he had been ordered to explore the exciting world of extremely manual labor for Maui Land & Pineapple Co. This lovely daughter of Eve, we'll call her "Mabel", ran into Ken's mother at the market. God bless her, in between band practice and knitting leg-warmers for the residence of the local nursing home, she wanted to write to Ken to cheer him up. Ken's mother thought this would be a smashing idea and happily shared his address. Ken's mother made a serious mistake. As Ken may be a recovering vein-sticker, I was an unrepentant ass. Mabel chose to share with Ken a secret. She had been carrying a torch for Ken since 6th grade. Upon receipt of MY letter, she discovered that Ken thought this was "neat-o", and that he had been "pining" for her since the 5th grade. Ken believed that the middle two syllables of any word were pronounced "fuck-ing". So this was just a little out of character for our little Kenny, but he had to admit that, "he liked her [Mabel] more than he liked candy bars". And, "that upon his return to the Mainland, perhaps she would invite him over for Sunday dinner and that he could bring his photo album with all the new friends he made while away from her." In fact, Ken had made a very special friend. The rest of the guys might call him "Goob", Ken just calls him "friend".

By the time Ken had returned home from his labors, his letter (the one I ghost wrote) was on its way back to the lower-48. You would have thought Mabel would have recognized sarcasm . . .

So two weeks passed and it was mail call on a Saturday. As most of the room was quietly sharing stale cookies from home, the still was shattered by a "WHAT THE FUCK?!" I guess Ken had received Mabel's response. He had just found out he had a new girlfriend . . .

I used to feel bad about that story, but now, where's the Saran Wrap . . .